Se'udat Havra'ah
by afterthree
Summary: Three decades ago, Joanie Lyman died in a fire while babysitting her younger brother.


Se'udat Havra'ah: Meal of Condolence 

Author: Fiona Doyle 

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone you've seen on The West Wing. That includes the McGarrys, Josh and, to some extent, his family. The Burgeys, James Ferguson, and Marcy Brown can be found living in a shoe-box under my bed. 

Summary: Three decades ago, Joanie Lyman died in a fire while babysitting her younger brother. 

* * *

Her legs swinging back and forth under the chair in time with the ticking of the kitchen clock, Susan stared at the fruit basket her father had brought home early that afternoon, thinking that this weekend hadn't gone at all the way it was supposed to. 

It wasn't just the normal every day kind of fruit, either, Susan decided as she rested her chin on her hands, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she stared up at it. There were apples, of course, and oranges too, but there were also grapefruits the size of five-pin bowling balls. A huge string of green grapes spilled over the edge. Several smaller baskets had been filled with blueberries and strawberries and raspberries, and there were a couple of those fuzzy oranges, the ones with the stones in the middle that you couldn't eat and Susan couldn't remember the name of. Then there were odd little egg-shaped green things that had hair all over them and didn't look at all appetizing. She wondered if maybe someone at the fruit basket shop had made a mistake. 

In the hallway, her parents were still arguing. 

"For God-sakes, Andrew, do you really think this is appropriate?" 

"Diane--" 

"Susan's five years old! You take five-year-olds to the park on weekends, not funerals!" 

In the kitchen, Susan scowled at her mother's suggestion. Diane Burgey was always trying to get her daughter to go and play at the park, especially on Saturdays, but Susan knew better. There was nothing at all interesting about the park. All the interesting stuff happened at Josh's house. If her mother would just come with them one Saturday instead of having a headache, Susan was sure she would realize that and stop bothering her about the stupid park. 

"It's not a funeral," her father's voice responded irritably. "And since you insisted on bring it up again, I really don't think it would have killed her to go to that, either." 

"Andrew, please! She's --" 

"Five years old, I know!" There was a moment of strained silence, then Andrew continued, somewhat more restrained. "But he's five, too, Diane. If you had of seen him this morning, if you had of been there --" 

"I'm not saying I don't sympathize for the boy, but explain to me how Susan attending this... this thing will make all that suddenly go away?" 

"I'm not saying it will," her father shot back. "Look, Josh hasn't been to school since it happened, it might help him to have someone his age to...to... I don't know. This whole situation is just bad, and everyone around him is grieving, but at least they can do that with friends. Doesn't Josh deserve the same?" 

There was a pause, and Susan listened hard, wondering if they were finished yet. 

"A funeral...?" Diane ventured weakly. "Andrew..." 

"It's not a funeral," he replied gently. "They're sitting shivah, it's not a funeral." 

Susan's ears pricked, and she lifted her head, turning to the sound of her father's voice in the hall. Shivah. It was one of those funny words she'd heard Josh's dad say once. Josh's dad, in Susan's opinion, had the best words. Words like yutz and megile and nudnik. Once, after hearing him call her father and Mr. McGarry schmucks during their Saturday card game, Susan had repeated it to her mother. Diane had not been impressed and had suggested that Susan wouldn't have picked up language like that at the park. Susan hadn't repeated one of Mr. Lyman's words at the dinner table since, on the advice of her father. 

"So this is a... reception?" Diane suggested doubtfully. 

"Yes. We eat and we talk and we show support for our friends during a terrible tragedy. It's not like there's going to be an open casket sitting on a table somewhere." A pause. "Sue'll be fine, Diane. Really." 

There was a lengthy pause, and then Susan heard her mother relent. "This... shivah thing... it's not at their house, is it? I mean, it can't possible be --" 

"It's not," her father replied heavily, his voice getting clearer as her parents came into the kitchen. "There was too much damage. They're staying with Leo and Jenny for now, until after --" he paused. "Until they decide what they're going to do about the house." 

Susan watched her father, still dressed in his very best black suit, take the fruit basket from the table and set it down near the back door. Her mother lurked in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway, her face doubtful. 

"Is that what she's wearing?" Diane asked mildly, nodding toward where Susan sat. 

Susan looked down at her white dress curiously, twisting the small bow at her waist absently around a finger. She liked this dress; it was the one she wore to church and Sunday school. 

"What's wrong with it?" Andrew asked from the door as he put on his jacket. 

Her mother arched a brow. "It's a wake, not a wedding. Don't you think --" 

"She doesn't own a black dress," he interrupted. "It was the best I could find. It'll be fine." 

"Fine." Diane sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't stay too late -- she has school tomorrow," she reminded, then turned away and went up the stairs, rubbing her forehead wearily. From the door, Andrew watched his wife until she turned the corner, an odd, sad sort of look on his face. 

"Come on, Susie," he called quietly, finally returning his attention to his daughter. He was holding her jacket in one hand. "We're gonna be late." 

Susan slid off the chair, enjoying the clicking sounds her party shoes made against the tile on the floor as she walked across the kitchen. She held out her arms as her father helped her with the jacket, kneeling to do up all the tiny little buttons for her. 

"Daddy?" she asked after a moment spent silently marveling how fast her father could do up those buttons, one after the other, as if by magic. 

"Yes sweetie?" 

"Are we going to a party?" Andrew cast a look up at his daughter's face, and Susan was immediately impressed that he could still do them up without even looking at them. 

He smiled kindly. "Sort of," he told her, smoothing out the wool collar of her coat, finished with the buttons. "Remember that talk we had the other night? About how there was an accident at Josh's house?" 

Susan nodded, and then thought of something. "Is that why Josh is staying with Mr. McGarry?" she asked. "Because of the fire?" 

Andrew smiled and nodded back. "That's right, Sue. Because of the fire." He paused a moment, his smile faltering, and then he went on. "And you remember what else I told you about the fire? About Josh's sister?" 

Again, Susan nodded solemnly. "Joanie died an' went to live with Grandpa Burgey in heaven," she supplied quietly. "An' that's why she can't babysit me anymore." Joanie had always been Susan's favorite babysitter -- she always brought her make-up case with her when she came, and let Susan put it on all by herself. Now that Joanie couldn't come anymore, Susan supposed Candice from around the block would have to babysit her instead, and she was disappointed. Candice never brought make-up and always took her to the park. Her mother liked Candice much more than she liked Joanie. Because of the park, probably. 

"That's right," Andrew repeated. "And Josh and his mom and his dad are sad right now, because they're going to miss Joanie very much, and this is how they say good-bye to her." 

"But Joanie's not gonna be there," Susan said slowly. 

"No, she's not." 

"But Josh is gonna be there, right?" she asked hopefully. 

Again, Andrew Burgey smiled. "Yes, Sue. Josh will be there." 

Slowly, she nodded, then cast a look at the fruit basket still sitting by the door. "Is the fruit a present for Josh?" 

"And his mom and dad, yes." 

"From you an' me an' Mommy?" 

"Yes." 

"For Joanie's good-bye party?" 

Andrew smiled, laughing softly to himself, and stood. "Yes. For Joanie's good-bye party." He picked up the basket. 

"Daddy?" Susan said slowly, looking behind her at the stairs on the other side of the hallway. "Is Mommy comin' to Joanie's party?" 

There it was again, Susan thought as she turned back to her father. That strange look on his face that she never understood. But it was gone quickly, and he smiled down at her again. "No, honey. Mommy's got a headache today, so she's not going to come with us." 

Susan frowned, taking her father's hand as he lead her out of the house to the car. "Mommy's always gettin' headaches," she said stubbornly. "Why?" 

Andrew sighed loudly, shaking his head as he opened the passenger side door and helped Susan with her seat belt, setting the fruit basket on the floor. "I don't know, Susie," he told her sadly. "Because your mommy's a little silly sometimes, I guess." 

"Because Mommy's a schlemiel, right?" Susan asked with a giggle. 

Andrew grinned, winking at his daughter as he laughed with her. "That's right honey," he told her, adopting Mr. Lyman's strange accent. "A real schlemiel." 

* * *

Susan had never seen so many people dressed in black clothes -- it was as if someone had used a vacuum to suck away all the colour. All the men wore black suits and ties, and Mrs. Lyman, who always wore lots of blues, looked quite different in a long, plain black skirt and black blouse. Even the tablecloths were black, and there was a large black curtain draped over the mirror in the hall so that Susan couldn't admire how nice she looked in her clean white dress and shiny new shoes. It made her feel oddly out of place somehow, her white dress and blond hair standing out so boldly in this mass of black. 

She wandered aimlessly into the McGarry dining room, thinking that Joanie's good-bye party wasn't a very good party at all. There were too many adults, and everyone was just sitting around talking in hushed voices. Mr. Lyman, who always had lots to say about everything, was being oddly silent, sitting in the big arm chair in the living room by the fireplace. People would come up and sit on the couch by him every now and then and offer their condolences. Lots of people were giving the Lymans their condolences, and when Susan had pulled on her father's pant leg and asked what condolences were, he had shushed her and told her to go find Josh. 

She was still looking. 

In the dining room, Mrs. McGarry was clearing away dishes, some still mostly filled with food. The fruit basket, now unwrapped and sitting in the middle of the dining room table, had hardly been touched, and Susan knew right away that Josh wasn't in the dining room because all of the grapes were still there. Josh loved grapes. He brought some to school every day with his lunch, and would first very carefully peel the skins off every single one, not taking them off the stem while he did so, until he had a string of perfectly peeled grapes. Then, and only then, would he eat them. 

Josh's sandwiches were also always grape jelly and peanut butter. Susan thought it was very boring, but Josh insisted grape jelly and peanut butter were the best things in the world. Susan watched Mrs. McGarry take the fruit basket into the kitchen, and suddenly she wanted some grapes very badly. And if Josh wasn't going to eat them, maybe she could have some instead. 

Inside the kitchen, Mrs. McGarry was wrapping the extra food on the counter to put into the fridge. She was wearing black, too -- a dress that fell to her knees with short sleeves -- but Susan thought she looked much nicer in it than Mrs. Lyman did. Mr. McGarry was in the kitchen with her, sitting at the table talking to his wife. 

"It's not right is all," Mr. McGarry was saying pointedly. He hadn't seemed to notice Susan hovering in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, the grapes momentarily forgotten as she listened. 

"They brought the basket, Leo. It's from all of them," she told him firmly. 

Mr. McGarry scoffed. "Sure it's from all of them, Jenny. Everything's always from all of them. But you don't see all of them here, do you?" 

"Leo," Mrs. McGarry put in, her tone warning. 

"It woulda killed her to stop by?" he went on, ignoring his wife as he stood and walked over to the counter. "One hour, Jen. Half-an-hour. But as usual, Andrew's making her excuses for her when he knows perfectly well that they know perfectly well why she's not here!" 

"Keep your voice down," she snapped at him. 

"They buried their teenage daughter this morning, and --" He lowered his voice after a hard look from Mrs. McGarry. "--and that... that woman... doesn't have enough human compassion to even show up to say --" 

"Hello there, Susie," Mrs. McGarry interrupted suddenly, noticing Susan standing in the doorway, shooting her husband a sharp look. 

Mr. McGarry turned his head to look at her, and his face softened somewhat, his eyes looking mildly worried. Susan liked Mr. McGarry as much as she liked Mr. Lyman. Sometimes, during their Saturday card games, he would lift her onto his lap and let her decide how many pennies to throw into the bowl, and if he won, he'd give her half of them. He had a funny smell around him, though, like the small glasses of yellow stuff he liked to drink. Susan didn't mind that so much, especially when he gave her enough pennies to buy an ice cream on the way home, but she often wondered how Mrs. McGarry liked it, since she was the one who had to kiss him goodnight. 

"Hey Susan," he greeted her with a grin, kneeling down as she came up to the counter where they stood. She grinned back at him -- he always called her Susan or Sue. Never Susie. She liked that, too, because she thought Susie was a little girl's name. Only Mr. McGarry and Josh seemed to understand that. 

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked. 

Susan shrugged, looking up at the counter top where she could just see the top of the fruit basket's handle. "Mommy says it's not nice to int'rupt," she told him confidently. 

"Your mom's a smart lady," Mr. McGarry said, then, a little more casually. "Where is your mom today, Sue?" 

"She gots a headache," Susan replied. "Mommy gets lots of headaches," she confided to Mr. McGarry in a whisper. "Daddy an' me thinks it's 'cause she's a silly schlemiel." 

Mr. McGarry laughed a little at this, and Susan beamed. "And you're a smart lady, too," he told her, ruffling her hair as he stood up. Susan giggled, and reached up to smooth it back down. 

"Did you want a drink, Susie?" Mrs. McGarry asked kindly. 

Susan shook her head. "No," she replied, returning her gaze to the fruit. "Can I have some grapes, even though it's Josh's present?" she asked hopefully. 

"Sure you can, honey," she replied with a smile, and took a bowl from one of the cupboards by the sink. She broke off half the string and put them in the bowl, then handed it to Susan. 

"Thanks!" she replied brightly, breaking one off right away and popping it into her mouth. She chewed quietly for a moment, and then asked, "Do you know where Josh is?" 

Mrs. McGarry glanced at Mr. McGarry, and their smiles faded a little. "No, dear," she told her sadly. "But I'm -- I'm sure he's around here somewhere." 

"Oh," Susan replied, a little crestfallen. "Maybe he's playin' hide-an-seek." 

Mr. McGarry's smile didn't reach his eyes this time. "Maybe he is," he replied. 

Susan nodded, and wandered out of the kitchen, pulling another grape off. She wished Josh had of told her if they were playing hide-and-seek before he'd gone and hid. Susan hated being the seeker -- she was a much better hider. She always found really good spots, and it always took Josh a long time to find her. 

She walked back through the dining room, careful to look under the table and around behind the china-cabinet just in case Josh was hiding there. He wasn't. Susan sighed quietly to herself -- the McGarry's house was awfully big; it was going to take her a long time to search the whole thing. 

Lots of people were still in the living room. Most of them, Susan didn't know. She recognized one or two as people her father worked with and sometimes brought home for dinner, but most of them were strangers, and all of them were dressed in black. The room was heavy with cigar and cigarette smoke even though the window was open, and the talk was in whispers that you couldn't hear unless you were standing right next to someone. 

And there were lots of places here for someone to hide. 

Holding her bowl of grapes in one hand, Susan checked underneath the piano, then pulled open the doors of the large cabinet against the wall, but found only bottles filled with Mr. McGarry's yellow and brown drinks, and closed it again. She checked behind the sofa, where her father was sitting talking to Josh's mom very quietly with a sad smile on his face. Mrs. Lyman had a Kleenex in her hand, and every once in a while used it to dab at the corners of her eyes, which were red and puffy. 

Susan looked behind the loveseat, then, after a thought, under it as well. She didn't find Josh there, but she did find a quarter, and she put it into her dress pocket with a grin. Then, she checked under the coffee table and around between the bookcase and the corner of the living-room behind the lamp. She crossed the room to the fireplace, and pulled open the iron grates to see if he was hiding inside. 

While she was looking, she heard a deep chuckle from beside her, and she pulled her head out to look at Mr. Lyman, who was still sitting in the big armchair by the fireplace. No one was sitting on the couch next to him. 

"What is it you're looking for there, Miss Susan Burgey?" he asked, his voice serious but his mouth smiling. 

"Josh," Susan answered simply. 

"Ahh," Mr. Lyman replied, nodding his head. "Find him in there?" 

Susan sighed. "No," she admitted, and closed the grate. She looked at the arm chair he was sitting in appraisingly. "Is he behind your chair?" she asked hopefully. 

He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't think so," he replied. 

"Oh," Susan replied, discouraged. She sat down on the stone fireplace, the bowl of grapes in her lap. She stared at them a moment, suddenly not as hungry as she had been a few minutes ago. Absently, she started to peel back the skins on one. 

"Josh eats his grapes like that, too," Mr. Lyman observed after watching her a moment. "He claims they taste better that way." 

Susan put the peeled grape into her mouth and chewed it, a thoughtful expression on her face again. "They're okay," she decided finally, and set about peeling another. They sat there very quietly for a moment, Susan peeling the skins off the grapes and Josh's father watching with mild interest, the murmurs of quiet conversations the only sound in the room. 

"Mr. Lyman?" she ventured after a moment, looking up at him. 

"Yes, Susie." 

She hesitated a moment before going on. "Has Josh gotten any?" 

Mr. Lyman's brow lifted curiously, and leaned forward in his chair. "Any what?" 

"Any condolences." 

He didn't say anything right away, so Susan went on. 

"'Cause I been thinkin'," she told him, shaking her fingers where one of the grape skins had stuck to it until it fell off into the bowl. "Everybody's givin' you an' Mrs. Lyman condolences. Maybe Josh is mad 'cause nobody's givin' him any, an' that's why he's hiding. Like at school when James Ferguson gave everybody in our class a little chocolate egg at Easter, but didn't give Josh any 'cause he was in the bathroom, an' then there wasn't any left." 

"He was mad about that, was he?" Mr. Lyman said to himself, leaning back in chair again. 

Susan nodded. "But it was okay, 'cause Marcy Brown got one and she's allergic to chocolate so she gave it to me an' then I had two, so I gave Josh one and he wasn't mad anymore." 

Mr. Lyman's face softened, and he smiled, reaching out to pat her shoulder lightly. "That was a very nice thing to do, Susie," he told her. "I'm sure Josh appreciated it." 

She nodded again, lifting a grape up to the light so she could find a place to start peeling it better. Now, she had a small pile of skinless grapes in the bottom of her bowl, as well as an even smaller pile of grape skins. 

"Mr. Lyman?" she asked again after she had finished with that grape and added it to her collection. 

"Yes, Susie." 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the quarter she'd found under the loveseat, hesitating again. "Can I buy some from you?" she said, hopeful again. 

Mr. Lyman's brows went up again. "Some condolences?" he asked. 

"Yeah," she replied, holding the quarter out to him. "To give to Josh when I find him." 

For a moment, Mr. Lyman was so surprised by this request, that he didn't quite know what to say. After a long silence, he leaned forward again, smiling at her as he closed his big hands over hers, pushing the quarter back into her palm. 

"You don't have to buy condolences, Susan," he told her, his voice soft and his eyes shining. "When you give someone your condolences, you're saying..." he struggled a moment. "You are saying that you know they are unhappy, and you are sad with them." 

"Like I'm sad that Joanie won't be able to babysit me anymore?" Susan suggested. 

Mr. Lyman nodded, blinking hard as he squeezed her hand tightly with his before letting it go. "Yes, Susie," he said quietly. "Exactly like that." 

"Okay," Susan replied quietly, putting the quarter back into her pocket and trying not to be frustrated. She had been hoping that condolences would help get Josh out of hiding, but after finding out what they were, she didn't think they would make him feel better at all. They sure didn't make her feel any better. 

After a minute, she stood up. "I'm gonna keep lookin' for Josh," she told his dad. 

Mr. Lyman nodded again. "All right," he replied. "I hope you find him." 

"Joanie was my favorite babysitter," Susan said with a frown, glancing at Mr. Lyman, then shrugged and started to head back out into the hall. 

"Susie?" Mr. Lyman called out to her, and she turned around. "Check the spare bedroom at the end of the hallway," he suggested. "I may have seen Josh hiding in there earlier today." 

"'Kay," Susan replied with a smile. "Thanks." 

The door to the bedroom at the end of the hall was open just a little, and the room was dark. She peeked through the crack in the door, and could see the shadows of their jackets piled up on top of the double bed, but that was it. She pushed the door open to let the light from the hallway in so she could see better, and then she smiled. 

"Hi, Josh," she said quietly. 

He was sitting on the bed in the valley of their coats, his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands as he stared at the floor. He looked up and blinked at the light coming from the hallway. 

"Go 'way, Sue" he replied dully, looking back to the floor again. 

Susan looked at him a long moment, somewhat surprised by this order. She'd been here at this boring party for hours, and had spent a long time looking for him, and now that she'd found him he was telling her to go away? 

"No," she said stubbornly, and shifted the bowl of grapes to one hand, turning toward the wall. She could see the light switch above her, and she stood on her tip-toes, trying to reach it. 

"S'too high," he told her. 

It was. 

"Oh," Susan replied, and dropped flat to her feet again, turning to look back at Josh. "Whatcha doin'?" 

Josh ignored this question, looking at her with a frown. "S'pposed to be wearin' black," he told her shortly. He was wearing a black suit too, just like her father. Susan thought he looked funny in one with his unbrushed curly hair all over the place, but she didn't say so. 

Susan shrugged, glancing down at her white dress. "Didn't have any," she admitted in a small voice. She poked at the grapes in her bowl. "Want some grapes?" she asked. 

"Not hungry." 

Susan shrugged again. "'Kay." She broke an unpeeled one off the stem and put it in her mouth, thinking that she liked them better with the skins on after all. She stood there, watching Josh stare at the floor for a few minutes. 

"Josh?" 

"Mmm." 

She paused, then: "Was it scary?" 

Josh glanced up at her again in surprise. His brow furrowed, and he went back to looking at the floor. "Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," he said. 

Susan tried again. "Was the fire scary?" 

For a long time, Josh didn't say anything, continuing to stare at the floor, shifting his head so that it was now supported by one hand, using the other to pick at the fuzz on the blanket. Then, Susan saw him peek up at her from under his curls. 

"A little," he confessed very quietly. 

"Like that time the lights went out in your basement an' we couldn't see nothin' 'till Joanie came and got us with her flashlight?" 

She saw Josh wince slightly before he shrugged. "Maybe," he said doubtfully. 

"I wish Joanie hadn't had to go away," Susan said gloomily. "Joanie was my favorite babysitter." 

"Yeah..." Josh's voice sounded very small and far away. He sniffed and lifted his hand, wiping at his eyes, then sniffed again. 

"Josh...?" Susan said gently, taking a step toward him. "You cryin'?" 

"No," he replied in a way Susan knew meant yes, especially when he wouldn't look at her. 

Susan didn't know what to say. She'd never seen Josh cry before, and it was kind of scary. She wondered if she should maybe go get his mom or his dad. Or maybe her dad. Or someone. 

"Sue?" he called quietly before she could make up her mind about getting somebody. "I think..." He hesitated. "I think maybe Joanie died 'cause... maybe 'cause of me maybe." 

Susan frowned, looking hard at Josh. "My daddy said Joanie died 'cause of the fire." 

"Yeah," Josh said, unconvinced. "But I was in the fire too and I didn't die. An' maybe... maybe if I hadda... then maybe Joanie woulda still..." Josh broke off, sniffing hard again and wiped at his eyes with both hands. 

"Josh?" Susan said softly, coming over and lifting herself onto the bed next to him. 

"What?" he sniffed. 

"I think it was the fire that made Joanie go away," she said confidently. "An' I think maybe if you'da died, Joanie'd still woulda died, an' then your mommy and daddy'd be even sadder." 

"Yeah?" he said, looking up at her, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

Susan nodded, smiling. "Yeah." 

Josh seemed to take a moment to think on that. "Maybe," he said, sounding a little more like he believed her this time. He looked at her white dress. "You wanna wear my jacket so then you got black on, too?" he offered. 

Susan looked at Josh's black suit jacket a moment. "Okay," she answered. 

Josh pulled the jacket off, leaving his white blouse and black tie, and handed it to her solemnly. Susan took it from him and set her bowl of grapes in his lap as she put it on over her dress. 

"Where'd you get grapes from?" Josh asked with interest as he peered into the bowl in the darkness of the room. 

"Daddy an' me brought 'em," Susan replied. "Mrs. McGarry said I could have some." 

He picked one of them up and looked at it. "Some of 'em are peeled," he pointed out. 

"You can have those ones if you want," Susan told him, breaking one off the stem. "I like them better with the skin on." 

Josh gave her a small grin as he ate the grape. He sniffed again, softer this time, and wiped the remnants of his tears from his cheeks. "Hey, Sue?" he said carefully, picking up another grape. 

"Yeah?" 

He looked up at her, worry lines creasing his forehead. "You... you won't tell no one I was cryin', will you?" 

"Nu-uh," Susan replied, shaking her head. Josh smiled gratefully at her, and the two of them ate their grapes in silence for a few moments. 

"Hey, Josh?" said Susan, fingering the shiny black buttons on his jacket. 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm glad you didn't die." 

Josh didn't say anything for a long time, then he slowly started to nod. 

"Yeah," he said to her. "Me, too." 


End file.
